


Bad Medicine

by Impala_Dreamer



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Implied Sexual Activity, Strippers, a case, nothing bad, sfw, show type stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-13 03:08:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16884510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Impala_Dreamer/pseuds/Impala_Dreamer
Summary: ~Sometimes, as a hunter, you gotta go undercover. And sometimes, going undercover leaves you very exposed.~





	Bad Medicine

Y/N and Dean made their way into the kitchen in search of caffeine, neither of them surprised to see a bright-eyed and bushy-tailed Sam hunched over his laptop at the table.

“Mornin’!” he greeted them loudly, making Y/N cringe; the case of beer she’d helped Dean empty the night before banging loudly in her skull. Sam didn’t notice or seem to care about her hangover and sat back, pointing at his computer. “So, get this…”

Dean held up a hand, begging for silence as he shuffled to the coffee pot. “No. It’s too early for that. Gotta let me get some coffee in me before you start with that crap.”

Y/N nodded in agreement while she took a seat, groaning as her head dropped to the tabletop. “What he said.”

“OK,” Sam sighed and closed his laptop. “If you don’t want to hear about the strippers, it can wait.”

Dean’s head snapped around so quickly he pulled a muscle in his shoulder. “Stippers? What now?” He looked to Sam with a dumbstruck expression and waited patiently for more.

Sam crossed his arms and shrugged smugly. “No, it’s fine, you don’t want to hear about it.”

Y/N lifted her head in interest, her eyebrows raising as she waited for an argument to ensue.

Dean set his mug down and grabbed the laptop, spinning it around to face him as he sat down. “Gimmie that.” He raised the screen and blinked his bleary eyes while he scanned the article. Y/N slyly snatched his coffee and sipped it gratefully as Dean’s face lit up.

“So?” she asked over the rim of the mug. “Strippers?”

Dean’s eyes grew wide with a ridiculous smile. “Strippers,” he nodded. “Lots of strippers. Dead ones, too.”

Y/N frowned and smacked her lips. “Eww.”

Sam sat forward and reclaimed his computer with a sigh, having had enough of Dean’s teenage behavior. He cleared his throat and laid out the details for Y/N. “Beksley, West Virginia. Seven exotic dancers have gone missing over the last few months, all from the same strip club. A few of them have been found, but only parts of them.”

Y/N’s stomach, already sour from the beer, gurgled in protest. “Which parts?” she dared to ask.

“Uh,” Sam shrugged and scrolled down a bit. “Bits of hair, a few teeth…”

“Glitter,” Dean chimned in with a smirk that neither tablemate returned.

“That’s not funny, Dean,” Y/N chastised him.

He stammered, “Well, no, but…”

“Those girls are somebody’s daughters,” she scolded.

“Oh, come on!” Dean sighed and looked to Sam for help, but his brother frowned and gave him a look, silently agreeing with Y/N. “They get paid more than we ever will, and I’m sure they’re…” He waved his hand, trying to come up with a good answer. “…working their way through med school or whatever… Shut up.”

Again, Sam cleared his throat, putting an end to Dean’s pain. “Anyway, I think we should go check it out.”

~

The drive took only twelve hours under Dean’s lead foot, and the trio had a look around after checking into the Bluebird Motel off the back highway.

The town was small, but felt like a big city in its bustling downtown and grimy sidewalks. Mom and Pop stores lined Main Street, and the townsfolk were generally pleasant, nodding hello with gentle smiles as they scurried past the impressively suited federal agents that surveyed the area.

“Oh, that place is disgusting. A real black mark on our town,” Mrs. Ritter, the blue-haired owner of Minnie’s Bakery commented as Y/N casually questioned her about the strip club.

“I’m sure it is,” Y/N nodded in sympathetic agreement. “Can you tell me, Ma'am, did you know any of the victims?”

Mrs. Ritter sneered as she handed Y/N a white paper bag filled with homemade jelly donuts. “Absolutely not. I wouldn’t go near any of them.”

Y/N smiled kindly, biting her tongue at the hate the old woman was spewing on the poor dead women. “Of course not. Well, thank you very much for your time.”

Sighing with annoyance, Y/N met up with the guys outside the little shop, tossing the bag of pastry at Dean who grinned excitedly.

“People in this town are really nasty,” she said with a nice eye roll.

“Really?” Sam shrugged. “They seem nice.”

“They’re all extremely huffy about the strip club,” she explained. “Dude in the hardware store slammed his fist on the counter when I asked about it. Creepy.”

“This place is weird,” Dean agreed as he shoved half a donut in his face. “Dere’s no ar effer.”

Y/N and Sam titled their heads in tandem confusion and Dean swallowed his massive bite. “There’s no bar either,” he clarified. “Except the club. And technically that’s not even in town. The property is right on the town border. So two-thirds of the parking lot are in Beksley, and the actual building is in Manook.”

Again, Sam and Y/N seemed genuinely confused and Dean scoffed as he took another, albeit smaller, bite. “What? I did my research. You two clowns were out chatting up the locals and I was digging through the real dirt.”

“Huh, OK.” Sam frowned and nodded as he pondered the information. “So what do you think we’re dealing with?”

Dean shrugged and dug out another donut. “I don’t know, but these things are heavenly.”

Y/N chuckled as he shoved another pastry down his gullet, and white sugary dust settled on his sports coat. “Glad you like them,” she said and turned to Sam. “I have zero theories. What kind of monster attacks strippers and leaves random body parts behind?”

Sam sighed and bit his lip. “No clue.”

“E hood o to da flub.”

“Dean, would you please swallow before you talk? You’re going to choke.” Y/N rolled her eyes, but secretly enjoyed watching him enjoy himself.

Dean swallowed dramatically and wiped his mouth with his fingers, then popped them between his lips one by one to lick them clean. “We,” he said, slowly and clearly, “should go to the club next. Check out the chicks…um… clues.”

“Agreed,” Y/N sighed, adding quickly with an exasperated sigh, “about the clues.”

Dean chuckled as he rolled down the top of the donut bag and spun around towards the car. “Nothing I love more than working a case with real strippers.”

Y/N clear her throat and glared at Dean who gave her an apologetic smirk. “And you…” he said, trying to weasel his way out of the dog house.

“Shut up and drive, Winchester,” she sassed, and opted for the back seat, wrenching the door open in a huff.

Sam laughed over the hood of the Impala at Dean who cringed. “You do this to yourself, you know.”

Dean rolled his eyes and threw himself into his seat. “Yeah, yeah, yeah… shut up.”

 

~

The Cat Scratch Lounge was a strip club straight out of a bad movie. The lighting was dim, save for pink neon around the bar and stage, the music was painfully loud, and the decorator seemed to own stock in the red crushed-velvet industry.

Y/N and Sam took in the surroundings with their noses in the air, each trying to figure out how they could avoid touching the floor, while a wide-eyed Dean grinned like a fool.

“You really are enjoying yourself, aren’t you?” Y/N asked as his gaze became locked to the stage.

Dean laughed and then calmed himself when he saw her disapproving eyebrow raise. “I’m sorry,” he murdered pathetically.

Y/N shook her head and moved away, not really mad, but enjoying keeping him on edge. Dean was Dean, she knew, and no amount of feminist ranting was going to change him. Not that she’d want to anyway.

They split up and slyly interrogated a few of the patrons, chatted up the bartenders, and sniffed for clues. An hour later, they met back up at the car, having gotten exactly nowhere.

“Well that was a bust,” Dean sighed, folding his hands on the roof.

“We need to talk to the girls,” Sam said simply.

“I’m all outta twenties, Bro,” Dean joked. “Can you spot me?”

Y/N let out a breath filled with annoyance. “No one’s going to talk to you anyway, ya Horn Dog. You pay them and they’ll just rub all up on you and tell you how pretty you are.”

Dean cocked his head and laughed. “What exactly do you think a lapdance is, Y/N/N?”

“My point is,” she said, tossing her hands in the air. “We need to talk to them…off the clock. Gain their trust. Someone had to have seen something.”

“What would be better,” Sam interjected, “is to have one of us backstage.”

Y/N and Dean looked to Sam with exceptionally opposite reactions. Dean’s face lit up at the exact speed that hers fell.

Sam crossed his arms and went on. “No one’s going to talk. The owner is clueless and everyone else is scared or not willing to think about what’s happening. I think we need to set a trap and wait.”

“Are you suggesting that one of us goes…” she paused and crossed her arms, mimicking Sam’s stance. She knew what he was saying, but didn’t want to believe it. “Undercover?”

Sam nodded and Dean chuckled.

“Well, only one of us looks good in stilettos…” Dean grinned and wiggled his brows at Y/N.

“I hate you.” She looked to Sam who gave her a sympathetic smile, and then rolled her eyes as she agreed. “Fine! Fine! Use me as bait. I’ll just roll in there and chat up the Glitter Squad and wait for some monster to eat me. Makes perfect sense.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” Sam sighed.

“I’m not,” Dean smirked.

Once again, Y/N yanked open the back door with just enough force to show her displeasure. “Of course you’re not.”

“Hey,” Dean whispered once they were settled inside the car. “You bring that red lacy thing with the straps and the things cut out? You should wear that.”

Dean wasn’t sure what hit the back of his head, but it felt strangely like Y/N’s shoe.

~

Back in the room, Y/N locked herself in the bathroom, getting ready for her stage debut, while Sam hit the books. There wasn’t a thing in John’s journal that remotely mimicked the killings in town, but after digging through the Men of Letters’ Archives on his tablet, he had formulated a hunch.

“Hey, so…”

Dean looked up from his phone, waiting for Sam to continue, but Sam was actively reading something and his lips were still.

“Sam?”

“Huh?” His head twitched as he tossed a bit of hair back into place.

“You started talking…” Dean said, “and didn’t…finish.”

Sam looked over at his brother, confused for a brief second before snapping back into reality. “Oh, yeah. Sorry.” He stood up and brought his tablet over to Dean. “You ever hear of Bacchus?”

“The fat guy with the grapes?” Dean asked, peering at the screen.

“The Roman god of wine?” Y/N appeared by the bathroom door, her hair curled and shining, her makeup exaggerated and fierce. The boys both turned their heads and stared with gaping mouths. Y/N huffed and set her hands on her hips, but that only drew attention to the fact that they were bare. Her tight leather mini skirt did not quite meet her bright red tank top, but neither brother seemed to mind this hint of flesh. Y/N cleared her throat, but neither man dared blink, so she sighed and grabbed her black peacoat, covering herself and pulling the sash tight. “You two are pigs,” she said.

Sam regained himself quickly, blinking and shying away. “Sorry, Y/N. You…look very nice.”

“Thank you, Sam.”

Dean let out a noise that was almost a word but more of a bunch of words shoved into one syllable. Y/N shook her head, seething with annoyance, and focused on Sam and his findings.

“So Bacchus. What’s up with him?”

Sam handed her the tablet, but explained anyway. “Well, little known fact, Bacchus is actually the bastardized version of Dionysus, who basically governed the same things, except she liked to dine on the flesh of her worshipers and partygoers. Bacchus just liked to get everyone drunk and happy.”

Y/N chewed the inside of her cheek while she thought it over. “So, you’re thinking this Greek Goddess is in town having some snacks…just randomly?”

“Good,” Dean said suddenly.

“What!” Y/N snapped at him.

“You look good,” he replied, licking his lip and trying to refocus.

Y/N laughed dispute her annoyance. “Thanks. Jerk.”

“Yes,” Sam said, speaking over the two like a teacher calling his class to attention. “It would seem to be random, but…” He took back the tablet and swiped through some pages. “I found a spell to call the gods. What if…”

Y/N’s eyes sparkled as she caught his drift. “Pissed off townsfolk invoked the god to come clear out the riff raff?”

Sam nodded. “Yup.”

“That’s uncalled for,” Dean said sadly. “What’d those girls ever do but try to bring some joy to people’s lives? What a waste.”

“So how do we kill a god?” Y/N asked, stepping over Dean’s mock sympathy.

“It’s surprisingly not that hard,” Sam said with a chuckle. “We just have to draw her out.”

“Which means, I’m definitely going up on stage tonight.” Y/N looked towards the door, wondering if there was any chance she could sneak away. Her bucket list had never included stripping, but there was really no way out of it. “Awesome.”

Dean swung his legs over the side of the bed and grabbed Y/N’s hand, pulling her over to him. “Hey. You’re gonna do great. And Sammy and I are gonna be right there the whole time. Nothing is gonna happen to you.”

Y/N looked down at him with narrowed eyes. “Do you think I’m worried about being bait? Dean, we’ve played this con a hundred times.”

“Then what are you worried about?”

“Uh, taking my clothes off in front of a room full of strangers?”

Dean laughed so hard it made Y/N laugh too, and poor Sam retreated to his chair by the door.

“You,” Dean said, pulling her closer still. “Are so beautiful…” He kissed her cheek. “So sexy…” A press of lips to the other side. “No one is gonna be able to take their eyes off of you.”

Y/N tried to fight it, but she felt her cheeks grow warm under his attention. “You think so?”

“Baby,” he said honestly, cupping her face in both hands. “I know so.”

After their kiss lasted longer than ten Mississippis, Sam decided to seek shelter elsewhere, and went to prep the weapon they needed to take down the goddess. He said goodbye, but he doubted very much Dean or Y/N could hear him over their own sloppy noises.

~

Armed and somewhat prepared, the Winchesters and Y/N drove back to the club. The night was clear and cool; the stars shining bright over the countryside.

Dean parked in the lot and the boys watched as Y/N made her way to the backdoor, wobbling slightly in her stilettos on the uneven pavement.

“She’ll be fine,” Sam said, nodding as Y/N talked to the bouncer who answered the door.

“I know. She’s amazing.” Dean agreed, squinting into the dark, trying to see her more clearly.

The conversation didn’t appear to be going the way Y/N wanted, and Dean watched as she turned up the charm, kicking her left foot out to pop her hip. The flirting got her exactly nowhere, and Y/N shuffled back to the car in a huff.

“Well boys, I got good news and bad news.”

Sam turned around fully, and Dean tossed his arm over the back of the seat.

“What happened?” Sam asked.

Y/N grinned and then cleared it away, trying to look professional. “Tonight is Ladies’ Night,” she explained. “As in, ladies come to watch.” Neither guy was picking up the hint so she went on. “More specifically, to watch the ameature male stripper competition that is starting in an hour.”

Sam’s eyes glazed over with legitimate fear, but for Dean, it took a moment longer to sink in. Y/N raised an eyebrow and stared at him until it clicked, watching as his smile faded into apprehension.

“You mean?”

Y/N grinned. “Yup! One of you hotties is gonna have to step up and take one for the team!”

Dean physically recoiled, pulling his arm from the seat and sinking into the space between the door and the steering wheel. Sam looked down and away, rolling his tongue along his inner cheek as he visualized their predicament.

At the exact same moment, the brothers came to the same conclusion, and each raised a balled fist. They brought their hands down slowly, then back up again, three times in all, before revealing their choices. Sam knocked Dean’s scissors away with a crushing rock, and Dean stifled a yell as he hit the steering wheel in defeat.

“Son of a bitch!”

Y/N could hold back her glee no longer, and let loose with a roaring laugh that sent her head flying back against the leather seat. “You…never…win…that!” she cackled and Sam started to shake as well.

“Hey,” Sam interjected in between laughs, “he won once.”

“Alright, alright, enough!” Dean bellowed, tossing his hands up in surrender. “Whatever. You both suck.” His face was bright red, and he looked to Y/N in the mirror, but she couldn’t hold a straight face. “Wait, what was the good news?”

“Huh?” Y/N stopped laughing long enough to sit up and listen.

Dean rolled his eyes. “You said you had good news and bad news. What was the good news?”

Y/N struggled to contain her laughter. “That one of you were going to have to strip. I thought that was clear.”

“I thought that was the bad news.”

Y/N leaned forward and clamped a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “That depends on where you’re sittin’, Sweetheart.”

~

It took twenty minutes of meditative deep breathing, instructed by Sam, and a pep talk from Y/N before Dean would get out of the car.

Y/N went with him, as she’d already been seen by the bouncer, and signed her nervous boyfriend up for a fun night of exposition. Unlike the first time they had entered the club, Dean looked around in panic rather than awe, and Y/N made sure to squeeze his hand a little tighter as they made their way through the velvet wonderland.

“You got this, Babe,” she whispered in his ear before planting a firm kiss on the corner of his mouth.

Dean nodded and let out a quick breath. “Yeah. I got this.” He squared his shoulders and turned away, stepping through the dark red curtain and into the unknown.

Y/N was stationed close to the stage, trying to act like all the other drunk ladies that surrounded the empty pole, waiting patiently for the show to begin. She chewed on the straw in her vodka tonic as her eyes swept the room, looking for anything suspicious. She nodded subtly at Sam when he walked in, their eyes meeting for just a second before he slipped away against the back wall, just another figure in the dark.

The music was loud, and the place stunk of booze and perfume, but otherwise, nothing crazy was happening. Sam had his eye on one of the bouncers, and Y/N’s attention kept turning back to the young, blonde bartender who looked like she should be up on the stage instead of slinging drinks.

When the show began, Y/N found it a little harder to focus on the suspects, her eyes kept traveling to the stage. It was truly ridiculous, seeing grown men of various body types prance about the glowing pink stage and shed their clothing. Still, Y/N allowed herself a few peeks of the flesh being presented for her approval.

After the fourth contestant, Y/N’s phone buzzed, and she looked down to see a text from Dean.

‘Y/N! Help!’

Kicking herself for letting her guard down, Y/N’s head shot up and she searched the room for Dean. Panic was replaced by a small laugh when she saw his head sticking out from behind the curtain to her left.

“You OK?”

“No,” Dean said, looking at Y/N with the most pathetic puppy eyes.

“Did you see something? What happened?”

Dean shook his head, his forehead wrinkled with worry. “I can’t do this, Y/N/N,” he said in a pained whisper.

Y/N rolled her eyes and laughed at him. “Yes, you can.”

“No.” Dean insisted, gripping the velvet curtain he hid behind. “I really can’t. I’m not a stripper!”

“Dean, you strip for me like every night.” Y/N winked, hoping to distract him and get him to see the comedy of the situation.

“That’s different. And no one else is around.”

Y/N nodded, but smirked. “Well, except that one time Sam was in the room…”

Dean gasped. “That’s not…shut up, that’s different. I can’t do this.”

“Oh, but it was OK when it was gonna be my ass up on the stage?” Y/N sassed and crossed her arms, done with his fussing. Her tone closed his mouth, and Dean looked away, biting his lip. The mix of embarrassment and worry in his eyes melted her heart and Y/N reached out to lay a hand on his. “Dean, if you really don’t want to, that’s fine. We’ll figure out something else. It’ll just take longer, but it’s fine. You don’t have to.”

Y/N could see him debating the options, weighing out the pros and cons of four quick minutes on stage versus another week or so in a town with no bar. “How do we know this thing’ll even go after me? It’s always after chicks.”

“I don’t think it cares what it eats,” Y/N told him honestly. “And besides,” she smirked, “one look at those juicy thighs of yours, it’ll be dying for a taste.”

Dean’s eyes snapped back to hers and his jaw dropped. “That’s not funny!”

Y/N laughed and patted his cheek. “Come on, Dean, it’s a little funny.”

Dean was not amused.

Y/N batted her eyes and pouted. “I love you?”

“Shut up.”

And with that, Dean disappeared back behind the red curtain.

Y/N went back to her spot, shot Sam a reassuring look, and ordered another drink. Dean would be fine, she knew, but she still felt a little bad. Maybe she should have gotten him drunk first… that always seemed to help.

“Alright alright, ladies…” The DJ’s voice boomed over the crowd as a familiar guitar riff filled the air. “…coming to the stage…” Y/N’s eyes lifted to the curtain. “Ready to cure whatever’s ailin’ ya…give it up for Doctor…Sexy!”

As the drums kicked in, a cowboy boot peeked out from the break in the curtain. Y/N watched as the boot slid out, accompanied by a leg clad bright green hospital scrubs. Tentatively, the man pushed through the curtain, and Y/N gasped in delighted shock as Dr. Sexy, M.D. made his stage debut. Dean had scrounged up the perfect costume: a white lab coat atop ugly scrubs, his boots, and a stethoscope slung around his neck.

‘Your love is like bad medicine… bad medicine is what I need… oh whoa oh…’

It was clear from his expression that Dean did not pick the song, but he went along with it, slowly making his way across the stage. The women in the front row went wild as he flashed a grin, and Y/N watched as their cheering worked magic on him. His confidence seemed to grow as wide as his smile, and Dean spun around, coyly slipping out of his lab coat as he shook his ass for the crowd.

‘I ain’t got a fever, got a permanent disease…and it’ll take more than a doctor to prescribe a remedy…’

With the lab coat tossed aside, Dean locked his hands around the stethoscope and pulled it slowly back and forth across his shoulders as he faced forward again. A particularly drunk brunette at the front of the stage stood up and waved a wad of bills at Dean, who smirked and leaned down, flipping the stethoscope off of his shoulders and onto hers. She screamed and shoved the bills in his chest pocket before falling back into her seat.

‘That’s what you get for falling in love… you get a little, but it’s never enough…’

Y/N watched from her spot in the corner as Dean soaked up all the love from the room. He was totally over his nerves, and teased the crowd by lifting the hem of his shirt just enough to give a sneak peek of his tummy.

‘That’s what you get for falling in love… and now this boy’s addicted. ‘cause your kiss is the drug…’

In one quick motion, Dean peeled off his shirt and held it aloft, twirling it in the air as the ladies went crazy. He whooped and hollered, and sent the shirt flying off into the shadows behind him. If Y/N didn’t know any better, she’d be sure he’d done this before. 

‘Shake it up, just like bad medicine… there ain’t no doctor that can cure my disease…’

Dean was full on dancing at this point, running a hand down his smooth chest and popping his hips to thunderous applause. Y/N was trying to watch the crowd, inspecting each face to weed out the murderous god, but it was getting harder to focus.

‘Bad, bad, medicine…’

Suddenly, Dean jumped and spread his bowed legs wide. His hands flew down to his thick thighs and Y/N nearly fainted when he ripped away the fake scrubs, popping the snaps down along his legs.

‘There ain’t no paramedic…going to save this heart attack…’

Dean Winchester stood under the bright spot light, naked but for his brown cowboy boots and a bright red thong that barely held his package in place.

‘That’s what you get for falling in love…’

Y/N’s eyes glazed over as she watched Dean dance over to the pole center stage. He lifted one leg, and hooked his knee around the metal, holding on with his left hand as his right waved and invisible lasso above his head. As Dean humped the pole, riding it like a horse off into the neon pink sunset, Y/N’s mind filled with a thousand ideas, and she started making a list of all the things she was going to do to him when the case finally closed.

‘Shake it up, just like bad medicine…your love’s the potion that can cure my disease…’

Dean finished to a round of applause that nearly drowned out Bon Jovi’s wailing. He flashed Y/N a quick wink before parting the curtain with an exaggerated wave of his hands and disappearing into the back.

‘Bad, bad medicine.’

~

Y/N was still staring dreamily at the stage when Sam tapped on her shoulder. She jumped up, startled from her fantasy, and nearly spilled her drink.

“Fuck, Sam!”

“You OK?” he laughed.

“I mean, yeah. Way to give a girl a heart attack.”

Sam raised a brow and teased her a bit. “I figured Dean already did.”

Y/N’s eyes glazed over again as Bon Jovi played in her head. “Mhmm.”

Sam shook his head and moved out of the light as the DJ took the stage once more to announce the winners. One by one, the runners up came to take a final bow, and when second place was announced, a shout of surprise left Y/N’s lips.

“Doctor Sexy!”

The crowd cheered, waiting for the handsome doc to return, but Dean did not reappear.

“Paging Doctor Sexy!” The DJ tried again, but the curtain was still. “OK…moving on…”

Y/N didn’t wait around to see who took home the grand prize. She and Sam snuck backstage just in time to see the tiny blonde bartender whacking Dean over the back of the head with an industrial sized bottle of baby oil.

“You bitch!” Y/N yelled as she raced forward. Dean slumped to the floor and the interrupted deity took off, rushing towards the fire exit. Sam gave chase as Y/N collected Dean from the ground, pausing to wipe a mess of glitter from his sweaty brow.

His eyes fluttered open as she lay his head carefully in her lap.

“Hey, baby,” she smiled.

“Did I… did I win?” he asked, blinking up at her, only slightly concussed.

Y/N nodded and gave him a gentle smile as she caressed his cheek. “You did great, Dean. You took second place!”

In the distance, a shot rang out as Sam took down the offending god with a magical bullet, and Dean frowned up at Y/N. “Second place?” he groaned. “Son of a bitch. Fuckin’ Bon Jovi…”

Y/N would have laughed, but Dean passed out in her arms then, and she found it just a bit tacky to giggle. 

~

“Second place. Second place. Did they see my pole work? I was freaking amazing out there.”

Y/N nodded from the bed, watching with a smile as Dean paced the room, lamenting his loss. “You were great, babe. Totally hot.”

“Second place? Come on! That fireman guy had nothing on me. Did you see what I did with the stethoscope? Did you see?”

“Yes! I saw! It was awesome!” Y/N said quickly, hoping he would stop his belly aching. Sam had gone out to grab dinner from Biggerson’s, using the gift card that Dean had won as his prize, and she really didn’t want to spend their limited alone time crying over a contest he didn’t even want to enter.

Dean spun around to face her, his mouth drawn in a ridiculous frown. “I was good,” he said with a pout.

Y/N stood up slowly and went to him, taking his hand firmly in hers as she tried her best to comfort him. “You were the best, baby.” She kissed his hand, but his frown remained. “Absolutely the best.” A hand on his chest, a kiss to his cheek. “Not a dry seat in the house.” That one made him break, and he bit back a laugh, enjoying playing the victim.

“You think so?”

“Oh, most definitely. I know I was excited.” Her lips met his finally as she kissed his troubles away. She licked her lips when she pulled back and looked up into his eyes with devious intent. “Show me that thing again?” she whispered. “The thing you did with your hips…”

Dean pursed his lips and raised an eyebrow as his hands settled on her ass. “Which thing? This thing?” He pulled her close as he rolled his hips forward, pressing himself between her legs.

“That’s the one!”

 

Sam should have known better, should have seen the signs, but he was tired. Three takeout bags and a six pack were balanced in his arms as he fumbled with the room key, barely noticing the obvious noises that sounded behind the door. He kicked it open and stumbled inside, dropping the bags on the table before turning to close the door.

“Heya, Sammy!”

Sam turned towards Dean’s voice at the exact wrong moment and got an eye full for the second time that day. “Jesus!”

Dean laughed from his spot on the floor, hovering over Y/N who hid her face in shame. “You can just call me Dean,” he said with a cocky grin.

“God, I’ve seen enough of your ass today!” Sam shouted as he spun back towards the door.

“Well, I’d leave now, then.” Dean warned as he rolled onto his side, pulling Y/N with him. “Or you’re gonna see a whole lot more!”


End file.
